


That's How Mafia Works

by MapleThisOff



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Death, F/M, Fighting, Gunshots, The fic in which francesco fucks up and memelord regrets life, Violence, ambioso, are you sick of me writing about the same 2 characters all the time?, how do you tag stuff?, kind of a rewrite of something I deleted, mafibusher, pain pain lotsa pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleThisOff/pseuds/MapleThisOff
Summary: The mafioso needs to take care of one last problem, and the ambusher can only delay the inevitable.





	That's How Mafia Works

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the only meme here, trust me. You don't know how hard it was not to stuff this thing to the brim with memes.

_ “She’s only using you to gain power. I doubt she really cares for you.” _

 

_ “She’s already tried to kill you before, what makes you think this time is any different?” _

 

_ “You’re better off beating her at her own game.” _

 

Cela’s words echoed in Francesco’s head as he tightened the hold on his gun. He couldn’t trust his thoughts, he couldn’t the ambusher, he couldn’t trust all those memories. The cold handle of the gun anchored him into reality, preventing him from becoming lost in his doubts. At least he could trust that a bullet would finish the job. Aija’s house slowly came into view through the falling snow, a dull light emanating from the window. Various memories began resurfacing, memories where they sat together laughing, memories where they fought and tended to each other's wounds, memories where arguments ended with petty competitions. Were any of those real? How many fake smiles did he miss? How many false laughs and cunning tricks did he fall into? The mafioso shook his head and took a breath, preparing to execute a trick of his own as he knocked on the door.

 

The knocking had startled Aija, who was sitting at her computer editing some images. She didn’t expect any visitors at this hour, especially with all the snow. Regardless, she slid a knife in her pocket and opened the door, smiling as she recognized the visitor.

 

“Ah, Frances. Didn’t expect to see you this late. Come in.” She stepped aside, letting Francesco enter her home. He kicked the snow off his shoes, letting it melt onto the floor. The mafioso leaned against the couch, gazing at her face. The ambusher felt something sprout inside of her under that gaze. Was it love, or nervousness? She never knew what to think around him, whether to say how she felt or cover it up under more snarky comments. However, she knew she could do one thing: express her joy of being around him with a smile.

 

He searched her face, looking for signs of genuinity. Only now he was beginning to see the small imperfections of her expression. The way her eyes held a glint of what looked like disgust rather than joy and the almost over exaggerated curve of her lips. It was almost as if she was mocking him. How had he been so blind, it was so obvious that it all was fake. But not anymore, he would end what she had started. 

 

“Is there something you need?” Aija asked, waving her hand in front of him, who was still lost in his own mind. 

 

“I just needed to...handle something.” The mafioso said, avoiding her skeptical eyes.   
  
“Like what? I don’t recall you leaving anything here.” She paused, trying to remember any information. It wasn’t often that he came over to her house, especially during the icy winter nights.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I won’t take long.” Francesco took a few steps back and reached for his pistol. He brought it out and aimed at her, but the ambusher wasn’t one to react slowly. As he took aim she ducked and moved to the side, swiftly bringing out her knife. A gunshot rang through the home. The bullet lodged itself into her computer monitor, its blue light immediately shutting off, leaving the two killers in a mostly dark room. A small lamp at the edge of the desk was the only source of light, but that was enough to expose the ambusher’s surprised face and the mafioso’s brief expression of panic. Aija didn’t hesitate and immediately advanced towards him, holding her weapon against his throat. He could feel the slight warmth of the blade against his skin.

 

“Frances what the  _ fuck.”  _ Aija hissed, pressing the blade closer into his flesh. “I thought you said we were over the killing each other phase.” The mafioso didn’t respond, he simply took the gun and rammed the barrel into her cheek, burning it. She winced and stepped back, while Francesco grabbed the hand that held the knife. He dragged it down and away from him, pulling the ambusher down along with it. 

 

“Look who’s talking, you’re the one who’s trying to kill me.” He said, wincing as he felt the blade nick his wrist. 

 

“Only because you shot me, asshat.” The ambusher responded, shoving him into the nearby table. Papers scattered around the two of them, various documents and pictures settling to the ground. “What was that all about?” She tugged her arm out of Francesco’s hands, stumbling backwards from her force. Aija took a breath, the air causing the burn on her face to sting. She looked at him, trying to comprehend why he suddenly decided to attack her. She didn’t recollect any recent actions that would lead to this, but ever since the mafioso was promoted he hadn’t been the same. He seemed to always be on edge, isolating himself from her for no reason.

 

“Don’t act all clueless, you know you were planning to do the same.” He flinched, noticing blood seep through on the sleeve of his white shirt. The mafioso kicked Aija’s stomach, pressing the gun against her exposed neck. She bit his arm, taking advantage of the split second she gained and attempted to push the gun away from her. Francesco blindly pulled the trigger, this time firing a bullet at her shoulder. A sharp inhale was the only sound he could hear through his ringing ears. The woman winced, her hand immediately clinging to where the bullet struck her. She could feel blood trickle down her arm, but adrenaline coursed through her. Aija felt she could carry on a bit longer, and regained her focus. 

 

“I did not, Frances.” She said between heavy breaths. “Killing you isn’t my priority, although it may be at this rate.” Aija tightened her grip on her knife, and proceeded with another attack, this time slicing just below his armpit. Blood almost immediately began to gush out, and the gun fell to the floor with a clatter. The mafioso stumbled back, kicked the gun away from her and raced to stop the bleeding. He picked up the ambusher’s scarf from the table, wincing as he tried to wrap the wound. Every motion of his arm hurt, yet he managed to wrap the wound. He hoped it would be an effective substitute until he had more time. This time when Aija attempted to stab him he hugged her arm against his chest and pushed her head under her arm. The ambusher fell to the ground, and the mafioso straddled her, pinning her wrists down. He could feel her legs struggling to kick him and squirm out.

 

“See? You didn’t hesitate to attack me,” Francesco said, trying to pry the ambusher’s hand off the knife. “I’ve finally gotten what I wanted, what  _ we _ wanted, a position of power. And I don’t want to lose it, not after all this.” He struggled to hold her arms down as she desperately pushed up, trying to grab him. 

 

“You don’t have to kill me, jerk.” Aija tried to twist and slide out, but to no avail. By now the bullet to her shoulder began taking its toll, and she could feel spasms of pain pulse through her arm as she attempted to move. Blood began to reveal itself, the shining substance standing out against her light skin. “I didn’t do shit.” The ambusher’s mind was swimming through an ocean of emotions. She couldn’t process Francesco’s logic and mumblings about maintaining power. All she was focused on was cursing herself out and attempting to escape. Every failed attempt only made her feel more sick, her stomach churning from fear. Aija could feel her remaining confidence dwindle as Francesco maintained control. 

 

“That’s what you want me to think. But now I’m done, I’m not listening to whatever bullshit you say.” The mafioso saw the gun, just barely out of his reach. It’s metallic head captured the little light in the room, casting a gleam across the floor. 

 

“Frances…” The ambusher could barely say that name without feeling emotions jam her throat. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t show emotion. That would be too weak, almost like an immediate surrender. Yet she couldn’t listen to his words with a neutral expression. Every word felt like a stab at her pride, confidence, and dignity. “I was never trying to—“ 

 

“Bullshit! Yes you were, it was so obvious, and I was an idiot for never noticing.” Francesco had to turn away. He could see tears forming in her eyes. Here she was, trying to emotionally manipulate him into relinquishing his control. She knew how her tears felt like acid burning through his skin. He continued to pry her fingers off of the knife, feeling her grip weaken with each tug. Her staggering breathes could be felt by the mafioso, but he wouldn’t let it impact him. He wouldn’t let anything impact him anymore. For once he had power, he had a say in what could happen, and he wasn’t going to give it back to the one who constantly held him around her pinky by his heartstrings. “I should have known ages ago. You never cared about me, you just wanted to use me to gain power.”

 

“That’s not true.” She tried to swing him off, but her hips couldn’t move. He was practically crushing her. “Get off me you fuck.” Aija tried to pull a reaction from him, hoping her words could impact him. She despised herself for being to weak in front of the one she looked strong for. 

 

“Why, so you can attack me? Well guess what, I don’t care about what you say, I don’t care about what you want, and I sure as hell could care less about you.” Francesco hissed. He hoped those words could squash whatever doubts he had about this whole plan, that these words could plug his ears and blind his eyes to the feelings of the ambusher. This was the correct way, the  _ only _ way to ensure his safety. The mafioso kept telling himself that as he applied more pressure on her arms, watching more blood seep into her sleeves.

 

His words tore through her heart stronger than any bullet could. She found herself drained of energy as she processed what she had heard. Any doubts she thought she had crushed ages ago soon revealed their ugly heads again, wrapping their spiked tendrils around her brain. Did he really not care for her, not value her in the slightest? All those times he sat down and listened to her, were all of those meaningless? Was he just using those to his advantage in whatever silly plan he had? Aija felt so stupid, trusting a person after a lifetime of wandering alone. How could she not see his ingenuity, or his apathy, or his whole scheme coming together? Her emotions blinded her to the truth, and now she was planted to the ground, powerless as she had always been. She couldn’t fight the mafioso anymore, for she was busy combating against the storm of her thoughts. 

 

Francesco could tell that what he said had broke her. He could feel something form in the back of his mind, a sinking feeling that made him want to just hug her and apologize. It was ridiculous, this was just another kill for him. Why was he getting so emotional over a person who would have eventually pulled the trigger against him? He had to finish the job quickly, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out against his mind. After much struggle, he finally yanked the knife out of Aija’s hands. The mafioso stabbed it into her other hand, finally able to take his whitening knuckles off of her wrist. The ambusher didn’t even flinch, she just had tears streaming down her face and avoided eye contact with him. He hastily reached for the gun before she could fight back and held it to her chest, right where the heart would be. 

 

“F-Frances…” her voice was soft and quiet, starkly contrasting her usual loud tone. She stared at the gun firmly pressed against her, knowing her time was limited. The woman took long pauses between her words, searching for what to say between weak breaths. “We can talk this out, maybe work something out.” Fear choked her. She didn’t want to die, not like this. “Please...just don’t do this.” 

 

Francesco couldn’t bring himself to respond, hell, he could barely bring himself to look at her. He could sense the desperation, the begging, the cry for help in her voice. Every word she said stung, it was just another trick. It was to buy more time, to prepare his demise. He already put this off for too long, he couldn’t be lured by her words anymore. 

 

“Frances! Snap out of it, is this really what  _ you  _ want?” Aija’s vision began to blur, but she could still see that cold, emotionless stare from him. It was unfaltering, reflecting only her own hopeless expression. The mafioso stopped, slightly lightening the pressing of the gun against the ambusher. She was trying to steer him away from his goals once again, trying to plant seeds of doubt in his head. This was what he needed to do, what he told himself to do. For once no one was telling him what to do, he had to rely on himself. But when his mind was telling him to do multiple opposing things how could he know what to do? He couldn’t let her live, for he had already done too much. She would want revenge. Taking a deep breath, he solemnly nodded and pressed the gun against her once again. Francesco closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Aija struggled to say her last words, trying not to choke from her fear or tears.

 

“Wait, please, Frances--” 

  
And with that, he pulled the trigger, the gunshot ringing through his ears. Silence washed over them, and the only sound in the room was his shakey breathes. There she was, the lively ambusher, now lifeless and at a loss of words. Francesco waited for something, anything to happen. He was expecting her to suddenly spring back to life and beat him, waiting for her to slam him into the floor, preparing himself to deal with one more stab or slice or bite. But nothing moved, nothing except for the tears running down his face. Why was  _ he  _ crying _? _ This was what he wanted for so long. Aija lay there, unable to harm him anymore. He had to do this, it was the only surefire solution. So why was he so upset over her? She was just a nuisance, an obstacle to his goals. He wasn’t supposed to care for her, he had to hate her, he had to despise her, he had to wish she was dead with every fibre of his being. But here he was, gently cupping her burnt and still face in his hands, letting his tears fall on her scarred cheeks. The deed was done, he was safe from the upcoming sabotage. As he felt her skin become cooler he stood up, his body clinging onto whatever strength he had. He walked towards the door and swung it open, letting the frigid winter winds embrace him to freeze over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I already wrote something like this, this is just a rewrite because I really disliked the previous version. Anyways, feel free to comment and critique <3


End file.
